


amans et somniorum

by moresapphicbookspls



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, but like rowaelin are cute, i literally wrote this whole thing at 1 am, idk what the concept even is, its angsty but ends happy, like soulmate dreams of your soulmates worst memories?, not edited at all, there are so many plotholes, they are so oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moresapphicbookspls/pseuds/moresapphicbookspls
Summary: in an alternate universe where every night after your tenth birthday you dream of your soulmate's worst memories until you fall in love with them, rowan has been tasked with training aelin ashryver galathynius, the heir of terrasen, in her fire magic. he is consumed by the grief of the death of his soulmate and is plagued by a terrible recurring nightmare all while trying to train a young, naive brat.  aelin is facing similar nightmares and is still grappling with her tragic past and her hardass teacher isn't helping one bit. but, somehow, they might just find their way out of this mess together.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys? do you remember that 8 part rowaelin soulmate au i said i would write and have finished by thanksgiving? well its february, and only 4 parts, but um it's finished! the first part was written back in november so my writing has changed a little I think? i tried to copy it the best I could. um 90 percent of this fic was written deliriously at 1 am and the extent of editing is a quick run through grammarly so... there are a lot of plotholes and it probably doesn't make loads of sense but... enjoy? also the title means 'and a lover dreams' um I don't know latin so I was just using google translate and um I went with this because I couldn't figure out how to say dreamers in love.... so if any of yall know latin?

Rowan jolts awake and feels warmth pool around him. What happened? He peels his eyes open slowly and glances around the room, taking a sharp breath as he sees his surroundings. He isn't in his bed. No, but this bed is one that has grown increasingly familiar to him over the past years. The room is still mostly dark, the sun just starting to peek in through the grand windows. Rowan tentatively lifts his hand in front of his face and, sure enough, it is coated in the fresh, dark, hot red liquid. Despite having expected the sight before him, he scrambles out of the massive bed, the thick substance making a nauseating sound as he moves through it. As he escapes the bed, he takes a deep breath and plugs his nose and mouth to protect him from the stench of rotting corpses. He knows what he will see. But that doesn't make him anymore prepared. Carefully, he turns around to face the bed once more and can't fight the sinking in his stomach as he takes in the familiar picture in front of him. No longer is it a blood-soaked bed. No, now he is in a nondescript basement, a mangled corpse staring back at him with lifeless eyes from where he lays on the cold metal examining table. It is the same boy as always. Bronze hair, hollow, empty brown eyes. He doesn't seem any older than 18, but Rowan couldn't tell for sure. No, Rowan could barely make out any of his features. The entire body had been slashed and beaten to the point of no recognition. Rowan's knees buckled and he collapsed onto the ground with a thud. The hardwood he had previously been standing on transformed into cold, rough concrete and he was enveloped in darkness. He hated this part. The whip came down right on schedule, tearing through the muscled flesh of his now bare back with a resounding crack. Once. Twice. Three more times. The pain consumed him. There was no end. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He was—

Rowan flew into a seated position, his eyes opening with panic. His deep pine-green eyes darted around the room frantically, searching for the threat. He was back in his own room. Safe in his cramped chamber at Mistward. Rowan loosed a breath and dragged a hand down his face. His body was glistening with a thick sheen of sweat, clinging to him like a second skin. He needed it off. Desperately. Rowan pulled himself out of bed, his sleep lingering in his brain. He was so fucking exhausted. It was barely even dawn. Not even Aelin, Emrys, and Luca would be awake yet.

This wasn't new for Rowan. This specific dream had been haunting him at night, remnants tormenting his brain during the day. Sleep had been a rare thing for him. He was too scared of the dreams that plagued him. And when he did find rest, he was always chased out of it by the same nightmare. He didn't know where it came from. Didn't know why it was happening to him. The last time he had a recurring dream was with Lyria— that hurt too much to think about. It was a different age; he had been a different person. That wasn't what was happening here, anyway. It couldn't be. So with no new answer appearing, Rowan pushed the thought away and got to the task at hand. Getting through another day.

He gave his room another sweep of his eyes. Gods, it was a mess. He must have kicked the scratchy, thin sheet that passed as a blanket here off his bed at some point in the night, for it laid in a heap at the foot, the pale white a stark contrast to the dark wooden floorboards. Rowan was lucky. He was a full-blooded fae, so he got the best room in the fortress, with a queen bed and an adjoining bathroom. Even that was much smaller than the accommodations he was used to in Doranelle. But, Rowan had slept in worse. Small tents packed to the brim with soldiers, the smell of dead bodies stinking up the room. Rowan shook his head clear of those memories. He didn't like thinking of the wars. The bloodshed. Not when he had done it all in Maeve's name. When it was the reason his soulmate laid dead under the ground. Still, the room struggled to contain the massive warrior.

Rowan gathered the blanket in his arms and stalked into his bathroom, dumping it unceremoniously into the woven basket he had been using as a hamper. He stripped off his sweat-soaked sleep-trousers and tossed them on top. The cold morning air pierced his skin, and it was as if a phantom whip was tearing through his skin. Rowan shivered, and hurried to the bath, turning the faucet to hot, before clambering into the tub.

After thoroughly scrubbing the memories out of his skin, Rowan climbed out of the bath and grabbed a raggedy towel off the rack. He dried his long silver hair by shaking his head like a dog, sending water droplets flying across the room. He wrapped the towel tightly around his torso before exiting the room. The loss of the bathroom's humidity hits him like a slap in the face as Rowan entered his bedroom. Somehow, in his haste to get out of the room and wash off the dream, he had missed the tiny, little detail that he had frozen over the entire fucking room. Ice clung to the walls and dangled from the ceiling like stalagmites. A thin layer of snow coated the floor, and Rowan let out a loud groan. He quickly clamped his calloused hand over his mouth. It was still really early, and most people were sleeping, though if he strained his ears, his fae senses could pick up Luca, Aelin, and Emrys clanging pots in the kitchen downstairs. He had lost control of his powers in his distress. It had happened before, but this was the worst time yet. It seemed as the dreams grew clearer and clearer, his magic found the threat stronger and stronger. Rowan let out a long-suffering sigh before melting the ice with a single thought. He would clean up the rest of the mess later. It was too early for this.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Rowan was already over the day. He groaned and banged his head against the table.

"Will you shut up?" he snapped. He was still irritated from his lack of sleep, and Aelin's unmelodic singing certainly wasn't helping. He knew for a fact that she was just doing this to annoy him. Usually, Luca just rambled on about the gossip of the fortress, and Aelin stayed silent, a bleak look in her eyes. In fact, basically the only time Rowan ever heard her talk was when she was throwing insults at him during training. Though, they had started to be slightly more civil to each other since she had managed to shift.

Luca seemed to cower under his glare, stopping himself from saying whatever news he had brought this morning, snapping his mouth shut for the first time all day. Emrys just looked at him disapprovingly before turning back to his task. The male had some nerve, Rowan would give him that. While he was widely regarded as the wise old male of the fortress, and most people respected him, Rowan had centuries on him. Yet, the male didn't back down. Aelin was a whole nother question. His comment had just fueled her. Smirking, Aelin raised her voice even louder, belting out the words to an old Terresan folk song, and completely butchering it.

"Oh, my gods! You are aware of how terrible you are at singing, correct?" he asked, his voice incredulous, with anger seeping in.

Aelin let out a chuckle, never stopping cutting her vegetables. "You're just jealous," she sniped. Luca's head was whipping back and forth between them as though it were a tennis match. He had never seen this side of either of them.

Rowan shook his head disbelievingly, turning back to his food. Rowan was eating last night's leftovers, seeing as they were still making breakfast. That was fine with him. He didn't want to have to interact with the entire population of the fortress over a meal. He finished off the last of his stew before standing abruptly. He grabbed the bowl and strode over to the sink, placing it carefully inside the basin.

"I'm going out. Come out back for training when you finish," he instructed Aelin, leaving the warmth of the fortress.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Rowan sent a sharp icicle dagger hurtling towards Aelin, waited for a second, and then sent another several in a rapid volley of lethal ice weapons all aimed directly at her heart. Aelin ducked out of the way of the first one and sidestepped the rest, a smug look gracing her sharp features.

"Aelin, you are supposed to shield yourself from the icicles not dodge them," Rowan chided. They had been going at it for an hour, and Aelin had only managed to procure a thin wall of fire a handful of times, her assassin instincts taking over in most cases, sending her spinning out of the way.

"I believe the objective was to avoid getting speared through," she quipped back. She threw a pointed glance at the sharp-tipped shards of ice scattered across the grass field, forming a circle around her.

"The objective was to learn magic," Rowan practically growled back, his temper and exhaustion getting the better of him. Despite his criticizing, Rowan was still marveling over how far Aelin had come. It had taken a lot of effort for her to shift on command, and though he would never tell her this, he was proud of her for overcoming the mental block that had been with her since she was eight. After that, it had been working on control. She still had a lingering fear of her power, and he had spent hours upon hours waiting for her to light a single candle, to keep her vast well of magic contained to that single task. And now, though she had yet to cast a successful shield of fire, she was working on actually using her magic in a fight, developing her power. Rowan didn't want to think about why Maeve wanted her to learn this, what objectives she might have for a fully trained and deadly Aelin.

"Oh, admit it, you would miss me if one of your gods-damned icicles killed me. And what would her majesty say? I don't think murdering me was part of her order," Aelin purred, raising one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows— somehow that vain woman managed to take care of her appearance even here. Rowan wasn't sure how to respond to that. He never knew what to say when Aelin brought up Maeve. She was blatantly hostile towards her, didn't try and hide her hatred, and Rowan was inclined to agree, but the blood-oath prevented him from speaking ill of her. And the first part of her comment... Rowan wasn't going to respond to that. The truth was, after spending hours with her, he had grown to enjoy her company. Their verbal sparring matches, while still harsh and often, had taken a slightly more playful edge, and Rowan found himself finding them stimulating and looking forward to the next one. But that didn't mean they were friends. Or anything at all. They were just student and master.

"Again," Rowan snarled, choosing to ignore her comment altogether. That was all the warning he gave before launching another volley of icicles at her.

Aelin let out a colorful string of curses that would have Emrys washing her mouth out with soap before flying to the side, not having enough time to even attempt to conjure a shield.

"Not fair!" Aelin complained.

They continued this pattern until the sun was directly over their head, Aelin managing to create a large wall more often. Rowan continued to chew her out, commanding her to make them smaller, more controlled, more specific. Aelin took his attacks with grunts and snarls, but she continued to train all through the morning. She took a short break, begging Rowan for water. He had conceded in the hopes that it would pick up her game. And, sure enough, when Rowan sent an icicle hurtling directly for the hollow of her throat as she rounded the corner, giving her no warning or preparation. It flew through the air with a whistle, growing closer and closer to puncturing her neck. Rowan waited for her to dodge it, but she didn't seem to notice it, continuing on her path towards him. He braced himself to melt it, but just as he was about to destroy the ice— a small ring of flame appeared directly in its path, melting the icicle on impact, before fizzling away.

Rowan snapped his head to Aelin's face, and she smirked at him in pride.

"Good. We are done for the day. Get ready to continue tomorrow," was all Rowan said before marching away. He could feel Aelin's incredulous gaze on his back, but she deserved this break, and he knew he would take it back as soon as she opened her loud mouth.

"Fuck you, Whitethorn," she hollered, the words chasing him back to the fortress. He let out a deep chuckle, picking up his pace


	2. Chapter 2

Hot blood splatters across her skin and she claws desperately at her face with one arm, her other occupied by slashing through the onslaught of opponents heading her way. Fully trained fae charge at her, yet she is cutting through them like butter, using her magic to cut off their air supply. The blood flies everywhere, grime coating her skin. The scene changes. She's still fighting, just on a different battlefield. This one is just as familiar as the other. For what seems like hours, she whips through hundreds of battles, the stink of death permanently ingrained in her brain. Not that that's new for her. But this is different. Even her subconscious can tell. Bile rises in her throat as the scene changes one last time, landing her not in the fields of death, but right outside a quaint cottage in the countryside. The yellow house was overgrown with ivy and various other plants, yet it seemed intentional. The house was well kept, cozy home in the country perfect for a growing family. She can't stop the tears from prickling at her eyes. She knows what comes next. She's lived through it thousands of times. She throws open the door, lugging her giant rucksack over her shoulder, and announces herself to the residents. She can't help that small swell of hope, that small part of her that thinks maybe, just maybe, it could be different this time. Things could be okay. But nothing ever goes her way. So as she steps into the foyer, the familiar smell of rotting flesh assaults her nose, and this time she can't hold back the vomit. Lying on the ground is the body of a young fae woman. She's pregnant. Or she was. Before whoever did this came and slashed her stomach open, and then her neck. She feels grief and guilt and regret wash over her all at once over the death of this unknown woman. Yet the tears fall freely now. And her knees buckle and she crashes into the pool of blood, only hours old, and her heart—

Aelin's eyes flew open, yet she stayed prostrate in her bed. She didn't want to get up, but she knew from experience she wouldn't be able to fall asleep after that. She tried. Many, many times. Aelin had been getting the exact same dream her whole life. Her soulmate dream. Or nightmare. Because that was the world they lived in. One where your soulmates worst memories plagued your sleep until you found your happiness with each other. Aelin had thought she had found that happiness with Sam, but the dreams never went away. And she never got the chance to talk to him about them. To tell him she loved him. Then she met Chaol and thought maybe, just maybe, he was the one. But his dreams didn't match. They had spoken about it one night, their words masked by the darkness of her chambers. He told her of his bone-shaking nightmares of watching a woman burn alive and being helpless to stop it. He sobbed in her arms, describing how he had to run away, to leave the burning body behind. She had held him tight, but Aelin could never bring herself to describe her dreams.

Aelin pushed the memories away and ran a frustrated hand down her face, slowly pushing herself off the stiff cot, her back cracking. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, standing abruptly out to try and escape the numb daze she'd been in. Aelin figured if she was going to be awake this early, she might as well be productive. She still had several hours until she was supposed to be on kitchen duty. As she splashed water on her face, she noticed her reflection in the basin. Her ears were pointed. With a sigh, Aelin shifted back into human form. Ever since she had learned to shift, it had started happening when she lost control during her nightmares. Luckily, since she was still struggling to call her magic, she hadn't accidentally started any fires in her sleep, but she could tell that it would be a risk in the future. But that was a problem for another time. Future Aelin could figure that out, current Aelin had too many problems of her own. Pulling on her training clothes, she crept her way out of the fortress.

Aelin tip-toed down the creaky wooden stairs, careful not to wake up any of the sleeping demi-fae filling the cramped building. Padding softly in her slippers as she walked, Aelin wound her way toward the back exit and pushed open the heavy oak door. She nodded stiffly at the guards on watch— a few of which she recognized as Luca's friends. They just smiled dumbly back at her. Whether the minimal reactions were because the young fae was bleary with sleep or just too shocked to stop her, Aelin wasn't sure, but she continued past them, stepping out into the empty field.

As she jogged to the boundary of Mistward, she shifted fluidly into her fae form, the action having become as natural as breathing after hours of practice. Her joints were still sore from the brutal icicle attack during training yesterday, so she started off with a few stretches, getting her blood pumping and adjusting to the chilly early morning Doranelle air. Once she was sufficiently prepared, Aelin summoned her magic, reaching down into the well of power within her. And she sent an arrow of fire hurtling towards the force field surrounding the fortress, which bounced off and came flying back towards her. She stood there stoically, concentrating on summoning a contained shield of fire. When one materialized directly in the fire arrows path, Aelin loosed a breath of relief, as though she had expected the fire to pierce her with his burning sting. Gathering her composure once again, Aelin continued the same drill with determined efficiency, repeating the action over and over until perfection, and only then upping the challenge by adding a second arrow to defend herself from.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Sweat dripped down Aelin's neck and her shirt clung to her back. The piercing pair of eyes fixed on her figure only added to her discomfort. Rowan had been watching her for a while, having come outside in search of her a little bit ago, but he had yet to approach her. He stayed perfectly still, a common thing fae did that Aelin was still adjusting to, watching her work silently from the sidelines. His eyes followed her motions back and forth intently. Aelin couldn't help but flush under his watchful eyes, her movements becoming more precise as to not disappoint him. Not that she cared what he thinks. She just needed to impress him enough to get let into Doranelle. That was all.

Eventually, she heard faint murmurs as Rowan asked the guards something, his voice too low for her to hear, and he began treading towards her.

"If you are here to criticize me, you can leave. I was training just fine on my own," Aelin sniped as his towering figure drew near.

"I can see that. The guards tell me you have been out here for a while. You may actually improve this way," Rowan replied in grudging approval, coming to a stop next to her. "Bouncing your own magic off the force field is an interesting training method. I will have to talk to the soldiers about it."

Aelin looked up at him in surprise. That... wasn't an insult. She figured it was as close to praise as she was going to get.

"Who are you and what have you done with the grumpy bastard who has been training these past months?" she teased, raising her eyebrows in question.

He snorted softly. "Fix your form. You are now defending against a single type of weapon, but you need to be able to adapt to any sort of attack and you will be thrown off balance with that foot placement."

"There he is." She chuckled. Rowan came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and twisting her frame into position.

"I'm going to send different shaped icicles towards you. Defend yourself." That was the only warning he gave before sending a volley of various ice daggers and spears hurtling towards her. They fell back into the rhythm of training.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Aelin was so exhausted she felt like she would collapse. She was sleep-deprived, annoyed, and extremely worn out. She was about to just leave when—

"Time for a break," Rowan declared and laughed as Aelin sagged with relief.

She stumbled a few steps before her knees gave out and fell to the ground, rolling onto her back with a huff.

Rowan chuckled and lay down a few feet away from her. They breathed in tandem, completely quiet for several minutes, melting into the soft grass and staring at the clouds.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" Aelin blurted randomly

"Yes," Rowan spoke with finality that made it clear that he wouldn't say anything else. Aelin couldn't bring herself to care, needing to finally let it out. To tell someone, anyone, the heavy weight she permanently carried.

"I used to. But how could soulmates exist if Sam wasn't mine?"

Rowan's breath caught at her word, and a sad smile spread across her face.

"I loved him so much. He was my only anchor to this world. My only light after my parents' death. You know I didn't realize they were dead at first?" Aelin asks, laughing humorlessly. "I crawled into bed with their dead corpses and didn't realize they were gone until I woke up in a pool of their blood. Marion helped me escape. She sacrificed her life, only for me to throw mine away as a murderer. A monster."

"That was not your fault. Arobynn was your only option. He is the monster," Rowan insisted vehemently, his voice tender yet passionate. His pine-green eyes were filled with such quiet, cold, vicious rage that Aelin was rendered speechless for a moment, her heart flaring at his reaction. She shoved that deeeeeep down.

"Regardless. Sam was the only real thing I had for 10 years. But he wasn't my soulmate. The nightmares never stopped. Not for either of us. Well, I guess they must have stopped for him now. I hope so. I would like to think that sort of suffering stops in death, but the universe is a cruel place. I wouldn't be surprised. They took him from me. Arobynn took him from me. Had him brutalized and tortured, his body mangled beyond recognition. And then he threw me in Endovier where I worked as a slave and was whipped within an inch of my life. How could soulmates exist in a world like that? I used to think that love persevered. But I'm not so sure anymore. I'm not sure I even want them to exist. They bring so much pain, and for what?" Tears pricked at Aelin's turquoise eyes, and she stared at her feet, hiding behind her blond locks and willing herself not to cry.

"Her name was Lyria."

Aelin's head snapped up at his words and found Rowan staring off into the distance, pure pain that she recognized all too well dancing across his features.

His voice was rough with emotion as he started speaking again. "She was my soulmate. And she was perfect in every way. She was kind, thoughtful, and beautiful. She sold flowers in the market, and one day I went to buy some, and it was love at first sight. That night my nightmares disappeared. I knew immediately that she must be my soulmate. I sought her out the very next day. We had several blissful months together. But I was a fool, blinded by ambition, eager to win approval, so I left her. I fought in a war. And when I returned, I found her slaughtered on the floor of our home. Only then did I learn that she was pregnant with our child. I gave every soldier involved with her death an even more painful end."

Aelin gave a sharp intake of breath. His pregnant wife was slaughtered.... Why did that sound so familiar to her?

The realization hit her less than a second later, and she nearly crumpled. Her dreams. H-he was her soulmate. Him, of all people. HIm, who already had a soulmate taken from him. The world felt like it was crashing down around her, pulling her under. She needed to get out of there. To get as far away from him as possible.

"So soulmates do exist. But maybe you are right. Maybe they shouldn't. Because love only ever ends in pain. We are only setting ourselves up for disappointment," Rowan finishes sadly, finally daring to look at her.

Aelin couldn't bear the emotion in his eyes, and she stuttered out some excuse, turning on her heel and fleeing, determined to hide in her room and avoid him until... forever, hopefully. She didn't think she could ever face him again, knowing this. Rowan Whitethorn was her soulmate. The universe was playing a sick joke on her. Or on him. On all of them. Because this had to be some sort of mistake. Aelin wasn't even sure if she was still capable of love.


	3. Chapter 3

Rowan had really thought they had made progress. He and Aelin were finally talking— granted, they had done that before, except now it was actually civil. They were getting to know each other. He told her about fucking Lyria. That was the first time he had ever told that story, ever made himself say it out loud. But then she ran away. And Aelin had been acting cold and distant in the weeks since. They had barely said more than a few words to each other, not for Rowan's lack of trying. He had approached her several times, prepared to apologize for whatever he had done that had offended her, but she seemed to disappear any time he got near. He had gone to Luca and Emrys for help, but they were of no use. It seemed he was the only one she was giving the cold shoulder to. Well, actually she iced almost everyone, but this was only new behavior for Rowan. Luca said she had seemed a little lost, stuck in her own head, but he had no luck speaking to her about it. Rowan doubted he would fare any better. They had been training in silence. It seemed whatever offense Rowan had committed wasn't enough for Aelin to jeopardize her mission. She was just as determined as ever— if not more— to go speak to Maeve in Doranelle. Rowan was trying to prevent that outcome at all costs, still unsure of Maeve's plan for the princess, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could stall.

Rowan let out a sigh and stood from his bed, shuffling tiredly over to his closet. He had been sleeping terribly. The nightmare seemed to have become more vivid, and he had started avoiding sleeping to prevent his icy outbursts. Or at least that was what he told himself. In reality, Rowan was avoiding the horrors that awaited him in those dreams. Horrors he wouldn't have been able to imagine if he hadn't had to live through them as if they were his own memories on a nightly basis. His lack of sleep only soured his mood further, making him so irritable and difficult to be around that he found people going out of their way to get away from him. Not that he was particularly social before. Rowan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was going to have to be more amicable today because it was Beltane. While it was a day full of celebrations for everyone else, for him it meant a day spent wrangling Aelin around, trying to train her without being killed by one of her glares. He was convinced that they could actually cause physical damage. Though, that was actually more of a pre-soulmate discussion Aelin. A more likely scenario now would be her ignoring him all day. Honestly, he would be lucky to get so much as a glare.

Rowan pushed those distressing thoughts away. He would try to enjoy himself. Shuffling through his limited options, Rowan picked out the most formal tunic he had brought with him, and dressed for the day.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Aelin had been keeping the fires lit fairly steadily for the past few hours, but he could tell it was starting to take a toll on her. The flames flickered and then flared, sending a wave of heat through the festivities. His first mistake was telling her to listen to the music. He had noticed that she liked to hum during training, and he thought it would help her gain control, but evidently, it wasn't working. The orange flames danced to the music, moving fluidly, at first.

"Easy," Rowan had warned, trying to stop her from getting carried away. As though she would listen. As though it would help her. He couldn't have been more wrong.

She didn't even blink, and the fire got larger, hotter, the air charged with the multitude of her magic.

"Steady," Rowan said, worry starting to rise. He thought she might calm down. Thought she might stop.

She didn't listen, instead inching nearer, enthralled by the fire. Lost in her magic.

"That's enough for now." Rowan reached out to stop her, clutching her arm, but he jerked back at contact. He let out a hiss. Her skin was scorching. "That is enough," he commanded.

Aelin's distinct Ashryver eyes met his own, and he choked back a gasp. He could see her losing herself, being consumed by the fire, by the pure magic.

Panic filled him. "Look at me." Rowan didn't dare touch her again. He should have. The little bit of pain would have been worth it, to spare her the torture that would result. But he was selfish. So he tried futilely to get her attention in other ways. "Look at me," Rowan begged.

Rowan saw her slip under the pull of the magic, saw when it started to hurt. When she started to realize something was wrong.

"Let the fires burn on their own," Rowan told her, trying to mask the fear creeping up his throat. He hoped a commanding tone would take over her fae instincts and make her look at him. Thankfully, he was right. She slowly turned her head towards him. Sadly, he couldn't see Aelin anywhere in her face. She was just magic. Pure, raw, fire.

"Let go," Rowan begged again, giving in to the panic. She was in agony. Her lips twitched, as though she was trying to speak, but then she flinched, a flash of pain crossing her face. "If you don't let go, you are going to burn out completely."

She was already halfway there. She had lost control of her magic, pooling too deep, taking too much, too fast. She had to stop, or she would die. Rowan didn't have enough time to dwell on why the thought affected him so much, consumed by his worry and desperation to save her.

He saw her face relax, as though she were submitting to the fire. As though she were accepting her fate. There was almost— relief?

"You are on the verge of roasting yourself from the inside out," he warned her, his patience snapping, his panic turning to anger. How could she do this? Was he going to lose her, too? Just as he got attached, would she be ripped away from him?

Rowan saw as the words hit their mark. She blinked, and for a second Rowan thought he had gotten to her, that she was back to her senses, but then she collapsed on the floor, screaming in agony. Her magic spiked, and the fires flared dangerously, sending heat and light flashing through the festivities. Someone screeched in horror and shock, turning to flee, and knocking into someone else, causing a chain reaction. The music paused as the panic spread. Soon enough, a mob of party-goers was staring at Aelin in wonder and fear. A cold contemplation filled their minds. Would they sit there and watch her burn out and die? Or would she kill them all first?

The grass started to steam, threatening to catch fire and light up the whole fortress in deadly flames. Rowan had to stop this. No matter the cost.

"I'm sorry."

He cut off her air and watched stone-faced as she choked, writhing on the floor. He knew if he let even a drop of emotion through a crack, the whole damn would come tumbling down. Tears were already threatening to spill.

"Fuck."

It was foolish. He shouldn't care for the young prin— the young queen. She had the entire world working against her. And he could do nothing to help her while under Maeve's control. While, as though that was a situation he would ever escape. He pushed the thought away. He might not be able to help her in the future, but right now, it was his job to. And him being an emotional snot-covered mess wasn't going to help her at all. He slipped the mask back on, becoming the cold-hearted soldier he had lived as for the past hundred years once again. He kept his grip on his powers tight, keeping her lungs empty, until she finally stopped moving, blacking out. As she fell into oblivion, he watched as each fire blinked out in unison, leaving the deserted venue blanketed in darkness. It felt empty, yet peaceful.

He released his grip on Aelin's air supply, letting her lungs fill back up. Her chest rose and fell as she started to breathe again, and Rowan's heart rate finally started to calm down. He glanced around and noticed that the revelers had returned, someone relighting the fires naturally. He would likely have to do some damage control, but he couldn't leave Aelin's side until he knew she was okay. Rowan knelt down beside her limp body, checking her for injuries. Her skin was still burning to the touch. Just as he was going to try to wake her, she gasped, and arched off the ground, hacking coughs escaping her throat as she tried to re-adjust to having autonomy over her breath and body.

"Breathe. Breathe," Rowan commanded, hoping that instructions would help her gain control.

He could tell that she was in immense pain, but there were no signs of injury anywhere on her body. Her magic must have been burning her from the inside out. She had internalized the flames, hurting herself instead of others. She had been this close to a burn out, he wasn't sure how long it would be until she stopped feeling like fire. He needed help. He couldn't take care of her alone, no matter how much he wished.

Whispering comfort to Aelin that he was fairly certain she was oblivious to, Rowan slipped away and found the two nearest people, a pair of demi-fae women he vaguely recognized, and brought them over.

He knelt next to her again as sobs wracked her body. He couldn't bear to see her like this.

He faintly heard one of the women ask, "Can you stand to carry her? There aren't any water-wielders here, and we need to get her into cold water. Now."

Rowan knew they were right, and nodded along numbly, and scooped up Aelin's frail body, still thin from her refusing to take care of herself in her earlier weeks at the fortress. Though she had started to build some muscle with all the intensive training they had been doing. Rowan reminded himself to talk to her about normal, magicless combat. That might be another way to postpone her visit to Maeve. And it would keep her far away from a burn out. But she needed to survive this first.

He hissed as she burned his skin, but didn't let go. Moving as fast as he could, he tailed after the women into the building, following them blindly through the halls until they reached an abrupt stop inside a room. They rushed around the bathroom, trying to find something to help. He waited with fraying patience as the stone bath slowly filled with frigid water. He tapped his foot anxiously, trying not to show how much this was hurting him. Not just the burning skin, but seeing her like this. Helpless, in pain.

"Get her into the water."

Rowan couldn't move fast enough, but he deposited Aelin's body into the tub gently, careful not to cause her any more pain. The water immediately started to steam, her body temperature heating it up.

"Freeze it, Prince," one of the women commanded. Rowan wasn't used to being told what to do by anyone other than Maeve or Lorcan, and Maeve usually didn't bother with words, instead forcing him through the blood oath. It took him a second to process her words, still stunned by the order. "Now," she said, snapping him into action.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Rowan sagged with relief as she relaxed into the cold water/ But then the water started to steam once again, her flames rising against her will.

"Get her out," someone said. It might have been him. Rowan wasn't aware of anything other than Aelin anymore. She was all that mattered. Rowan pulled her out of the tub as fast as he could, watching it start to bubble just as she was safely in his arms. She had made the water boil. Rowan didn't know if he had ever been this terrified in all his years, all the wars.

They needed more cold water. The women rushed out of the room, beckoning for Rowan to follow, so he did. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do anything other than cling tightly to her body if it weren't for them. They trekked up a flight of stairs, wandering down a familiar path before turning into a room. His room, he realized. They had brought her to his bathroom. They filled this tub with more efficiency, now knowing what might happen if they didn't cool her off, and Rowan slipped her into the tub. He froze the water and watched as it melted, before freezing it again before it could heat up.

"Breathe," Rowan soothed her, patting down her hair in hopes of— actually, he wasn't sure why he was affectionately petting her head, but it seemed right at the time, and she was starting to calm down. He continued to murmur words of praise and affection into her ear, instructing her to relax.

She continued to melt his ice almost as soon as he conjured it, a never-ending cycle, and the fire seemed to be winning.

"We need to get those clothes off her,'' one of the females said, and Rowan nodded. Anything to cool her off. As he stripped off her loose linen dress, he felt a small flicker of some strange emotion. He had seen plenty of women naked, but for some reason, this felt different. He had known she was beautiful. That was an objective fact. But for some reason, it really hit him then. Gods, he was a monster. She was at her weakest point, on the verge of burning out while in immense pain, and he was checking her out? No wonder no one wanted to be around him. Rowan shoved those thoughts deep, deep, deep, down inside him, hopefully never to be revisited.

Stipping seemed to help, though. As she started to come back to herself, Rowan dared to ask something of her,

"Just answer yes or no. That's all you have to do." Rowan needed to get out of there, needed to know if he could leave. If she would be okay. "Are you in danger of flaring up again?"

"No," she ground out. Rowan let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Are you in pain," he couldn't stop himself from asking. It was obvious she was. Her face was twisted in agony.

"Yes."

Even getting out that one word seemed to take a huge toll on her. Rowan regretted asking immediately. He reprimanded her a few times, just for good measure, but didn't dare make her talk again. He stood slowly, slipping out of the room to calm down.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Rowan had been pacing outside for the last several minutes, debating whether he should go back in. Finally deciding 'fuck it', he pushed open the wood door and halted where he stood. Aelin had moved during the time he was gone, now sitting up with her head rested on her knee, her bare back braced to him. She heard his footsteps echo as he entered the room, and her head whipped towards him. Her turquoise stare piercing, searching his face for a reaction, an emotion. But Rowan's eyes were elsewhere. Her back was a patchwork of scars. Long stripes down her back, overlapping and sinking deep into her flesh. They weren't recent, but couldn't be more than a few years old. They had faded to a dull flesh color but still stood out jarringly against the rare patches of smooth skin on her back.

"Who did that to you?" he managed to grind out. Whoever was at fault would pay. Rowan would tear the world apart to get to them, to put a blade to their throat.

"A lot of people. I spent some time in the Salt Mines of Endovier," Aelin informed him, her tone even, neutral. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. She spoke as though it were no big deal, a normal occurrence. As though it didn't fill every inch of Rowan's immortal soul with rage. How had Maeve kept this from him?

"How long?" he bit out, trying to keep his face neutral. He couldn't show her how much this news affected him. How much he cared. Because he shouldn't. But Rowan couldn't keep the cold fury from his face.

"A year. I was there a year before... it's a long story." Rowan's breath caught. She had been there a whole year, being brutalized in the mines. And he had threatened to whip her when she first came to Mistward, had called her weak, thought her a young girl, when she had lashed out in response. He had considered her an insolent child. Gods, he was a monster.

"You were a slave." It wasn't a question. He knew it was true. But for some reason, he needed her slow nod of confirmation for him to fully wrap his head around it, for the weight of those words to hit him.

Rowan opened his mouth to respond, but snapped it back shut. He knew that if he spoke, he would reveal all his secrets. Because seeing those scars felt so familiar. It brought up questions he didn't know if he wanted answered. Because if he was right, they were both so royally fucked. So rowan fled, like the coward he was. He couldn't face that reality, so he denied it, wiping his face clear of emotion, slipping the mask back on and turning on his heel out the door, closing the door carefully behind him. He showed no emotion at all. Not the burning rage inside him. Not the sadness, guilt, and grief permanently ingrained in his soul. And not the growing fear. He couldn't face the possibility, the implications that her scars held. The scars that he had received in his sleep so many times over. It finally made sense. Sam was the mangled dead body that haunted his dreams. It was Rhoe and Evalins blood that he was soaked in nightly. Because if he was right, then those weren't just dreams. Those were memories. And Aelin was his soulmate. Aelin, who was still mourning Sam, who had Chaol waiting for her back in Adarlan, who had a future as Queen of Terresan, away from the cruel clutches of Maeve. Aelin, who wasn't Lyria.


	4. Chapter 4

The last few days had been Aelin's own personal hell. Sitting up sent aches down her spine. Her voice was still raspy, the back of her throat burning faintly whenever she tried to talk. And sure, occasional bursts of heat would wrack her weak, but they were rare, aftershocks if you will. But her magic had fully replenished, and she had regained control, figured out what went wrong. Instead, she was stuck inside. It all would have been bearable if she could just get up and fucking do something. Of the few words Rowan has said to her since that night, over half of them were when he ordered her to stay on bed rest, not leaving any room for debate. Bed rest, what a funny concept, when she didn't have an actual bed in her quarters at the fortress. But Rowan did. So they had been sharing the cramped lumpy bed in his room. She wouldn't have had anything to complain about, seeing as even the low-quality full-sized bed was an upgrade from the tiny cot in her bedroom, and was far from the most uncomfortable sleeping arrangement she had in her short lifetime. But sharing it with Rowan was almost unbearable. The male hadn't been able to look her in the eyes since the cursed night, had barely said more than a few words to her, and those that he did were tense and to the point.

Every night he would promise to move a cot to the floor of his bedroom for her, sniping, "That way I can watch over you so that you don't fuck things up even more."

And yet, every night, she would fall asleep in the bed, lying stiffly to keep the few inches between them, but the space was charged with some mutual feelings she could never quite place. And still, his words hit her hard, just as he intended. It was all her fault. She didn't know what particular revelation Rowan had that made him hate her so, but she knew she deserved it.

This was just further proof that they weren't meant to be soulmates. He already hated her, and he didn't even know he was destined to love her. Aelin had spent the weeks since she realized fantasizing about futures where they ended up with each other, but even if Maeve wasn't a problem, she couldn't ever realistically see them together. She wouldn't set herself up for heartbreak by deluding herself that he could ever love her. He had said himself, he had already found the love of his life, his soulmate, and she was everything Aelin was not. Lyria had sweet when Aelin was sarcastic, innocent when Aelin had years of trauma, caring when Aelin had been hardened by years of abuse and being a fucking assassin. Lyria had been perfect. Aelin was fucked up. She was the opposite of Rowan's type, even if there was ever a time when they could work out, he wouldn't want them to. Aelin had been trained as a cold-blooded killer since she was eight years old, raised by the king of assassins. She had murdered. She had tortured. She had witnessed more death than any one of her age should have. More than anyone of any age should have. She was scarred and damaged.

That was irrelevant though since even if by some miracle, Rowan did want her back, they could never happen. He was blood sworn to Maeve, forced to obey the cruel queen's every wish and command. He didn't belong to himself, just a puppet for Maeve along with the rest of his Cadre. And Aelin could never risk the future of Terresan for a male, even if that male was her soulmate. Even if that male was the one she had come to love. Love. What a crazy idea. It had taken her a while to realize it was true. At first, she had been so shocked to learn that he was her soulmate that she hadn't come to terms with the revelation for several days. It shouldn't be possible. She had never heard of people having two soulmates before, but Rowan already had Lyria. It was always possible. She had a limited knowledge of soulmates. She had dreamed of finding hers for many years, reading epic love stories in all her books, but eventually, she resigned to the fact that she wasn't destined for love. Rhoe, Evalin, Aedion, Marion, Sam, everyone she had ever loved, had all been ripped away from her. And it wasn't as though she was taught about them. Her parents mostly avoided the subject throughout her childhood, knowing she was likely to end up instead in a politically arranged marriage and wanting to save her the disappointment. Of course, it was a part of normal Adarlan education, but she never received that. Arobynn had special tutors for her, the curriculum carefully monitored. He would never let her delude herself with notions of true love or fate.

It was entirely possible that one could have two soulmates, and she had just never learned of it. But Aelin wasn't sure what to think of the idea. Her whole life, she had heard and read about people's one great love story. Their soulmate, their true love. But Aelin had already had an epic love story, with a tragic end. A love story with a man who wasn't her soulmate. If it was possible to have multiple soulmates, she didn't want to think about why Sam wasn't hers. She didn't want her memories of him blemished with doubt. But the alternative was terrifying to even consider. Because if Lyria wasn't actually his soulmate, what was she? What role did she play? Was it Maeve, trying to maneuver Rowan to swear the blood oath? Aelin knew she wasn't cruel, but she had a hard time believing Maeve had that much power and would go to that extent.

And anyway, not all soulmates ended up together. Clearly. Once Aelin had accepted that they were soulmates, that her dreams were about his past, she had started to examine her feelings for him. She looked back on their months together, noticing all of the moments she had been flustered by Rowan's proximity to her, the moments he had made her laugh, brought her out of the darkness. But Aelin had distanced herself from him. He would hate her if he knew that they were soulmates. It would ruin everything. But he hated her anyway now. She hadn't been sure of the extent of her feelings for him until he was ripped away from him. He had taken such care of her during her burn out. She could barely remember anything from her barely conscious state, but she vaguely heard him whisper sweet encouragement and soothing words into her ear, working diligently to cool her off, to take care of her. But then he had ignored her. Not that she had reached out. She was too scared to tip the precarious balance they had reached. He may not be talking to her, but at least she was near him, at least she had the comfort in knowing he was safe. At least she didn't have to face Maeve just yet.

The first night they had slept in Rowan's room together, she had woken up from her terrifying nightmares, even more painful now that she knows the story behind them, to find Rowan lying awake, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Aelin guessed that his soulmate dreams must be even more haunting than her own, thinking back to her past. Sam, her parents, Endovier, they were all probably what plagued him every night. But it hadn't happened since. In fact, for the first time in 9 years, since she had first started getting soulmate dreams, Aelin hadn't had relieved that nightmare. She had a calm and dreamless sleep. Again, Aelin's knowledge of soulmates was limited to the fabricated romance novels she read in her adolescence, she was sure of one thing. Your dreams stopped when you fell in love with your soulmate. Now, Aelin wasn't sure of the logistics. She didn't know what it meant for your soulmate, what their feelings were, or what happened to their dreams. But Aelin knew it meant she loved Rowan. And she did. So much that it hurt.

Even while giving her the cold shoulder, Rowan didn't stop caring. He continued to be a fussy bastard, making her stay in bed all day, despite being mostly healed. He hadn't let her go back to training, which she didn't understand. Sure, she wasn't back to full health and was in pain a lot, but Rowan had spent months pushing her to the brink of collapse. She had trained while in much worse condition. And yet, now he wouldn't let her so much as get breakfast on her own. She didn't understand him. Wouldn't he want her to leave as soon as possible, to go to Doranelle and out of his hair? His earlier brutal behavior and recent icy attitude suggested that, but he wouldn't train her, or give her the okay to see Maeve. And she wouldn't be complaining, seeing as moving put her in pain and she wasn't a masochist, and Aelin had absolutely no desire to part with Rowan, or face Maeve before she had to, despite her need to find the wyrdkeys. But Aelin needed to move. She hadn't left the cramped room in days other than to walk a few feet to the bathroom, Rowan's quarters serving as her own personal prison, confining her within the four walls. Rowan wouldn't even let her continue kitchen duty, a chore he had assigned to her himself out of pure spite.

At this point, most of the fortress had heard of her burn out, and noticed her absence from meals and training, but she wasn't close enough with any of them for them to bother looking for her, to do anything other than gossip. Well, any of them other than Luca and Emrys. Rowan must have told them that she wouldn't be continuing kitchen duty, because just a few minutes after breakfast that first day, they both came upstairs to see her. How they knew where she was sleeping, Aelin had no idea. She figured Rowan told them, but she couldn't really picture him explaining the situation to them. Sure enough, when they came to visit, they seemed just as confused about his behavior as Aelin was. Aelin had filled them in on what happened with the burn out, but had been reluctant to tell them about what had been going on with Rowan. Eventually though, after some not-so-subtle hints from Luca and some gentle coaxing from Emrys, Aelin spilled everything. It had felt good to get it off her chest, to have someone sympathize with her, and give her (somewhat useless) advice. Luca had no experience with love other than various crushes, and Emrys had been happily in love with his soulmate, Malaika, for many years now. Neither of them knew what she was going through, and she obviously couldn't tell them everything, with the wyrdkeys and Maeve and Terresan, but they tried their best to help. When Luca sensed that she didn't want to talk about it anymore, he had taken up the mantle, continuing the conversation by giving her a play-by-play of all of the gossip that had been circulating about what had happened to her. He had been coming back daily to give her updates on trivial things like these two guards who had broken up getting back together. Aelin hadn't had the energy to care about those things in a long time. She used to get wrapped up in hearing about court politics as a young girl, and even letting Dorian rant to her about women like Kaltain and his other past flings.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A soft knock echoed from the oak door, and Aelin jerked up in bed, desperate for the distraction from wallowing in self-pity.

"Come in," she called out.

The door swung open to reveal Rowan standing there, a tray of food in hand. Aelin deflated, having been hoping to rant some more to Luca or Emrys, but then perked back up at the idea of food. Gesturing for him to bring the food over, Aelin propped herself up against the cold white wall serving as a headboard.

Rowan padded softly towards her, as if sudden movements would provoke her. As if she hadn't been dying to talk to him for days. He gently set the tray down on her lap, and she dug in, stuffing her cheeks with toast and gulping down the glass of water. Rowan perched himself on his side of the bed, careful not to disrupt her.

Eventually, once the tense silence became too much to bear, Aelin opened her mouth to speak, but the words that came out were not what she had meant to start with. "Why won't you let me leave this fucking room?"

Her hostile words hung in the air for a few moments before Rowan's eyes snapped to her. He gaped at her, but she couldn't tell if he was surprised, offended, or confused. Aelin didn't really care. She was just glad he had dropped his mask and was actually showing her his emotions and being himself. He seemed to compose himself and took a deep breath as though pondering what to say before speaking. "You are still injured," he responded simply.

Aelin let out a snort. "That hasn't stopped you before," she reminds him.

Rowan floundered for a minute. "I- you almost burnt out. This is a much more serious injury, a magical one. It takes longer to heal and can have permanent damage if you use too much magic soon after. You'll hurt yourself if you try to train right now," he explained.

Aelin almost believed him. He was obviously telling the truth about the extent of the injury, Emrys had confirmed that for her days before, but there was something else he was keeping from her. "Why do you care? I'll be out of your way soon enough, and you'll never have to worry about me again," she pressed.

Rowan flushed and took much longer to compose himself than last time. "Um, y-you'll always be my problem. If things go according to your plan, you'll be the queen of Terresan soon enough, and it just happens to be part of my job description to stop you from running the world into the ground. And anyway, Maeve won't be happy if you show up half-dead and unable to showcase your magic."

Aelin couldn't hold back her laugh of disbelief. His argument was all over the place and made zero sense. "Rowan, we both know that's bullshit. Maeve wouldn't blame you for that, she would just think I was incompetent and wouldn't give me what I want," she reasoned with him. Rowan paled at that and seemed to search for some sort of rebuttal.

"JUST FUCKING TELL ME WHY YOU CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO ME," Aelin demanded, her patience snapping. She took a deep breath, before continuing. "You can't just pick and choose when you will treat me like a real person with real feelings."

"BECAUSE YOUR MY FUCKING SOULMATE, AELIN," Rowan shouted, his temper getting the best of him.

Aelin just stared at him slack-jawed, her face stricken. He knew. Of course, he knew. That was why he had been so distant. He knew they were soulmates, and wanted nothing to do with her. She knew this moment would come, but for some reason, it still hurt so much more than she expected. Her soulmate didn't love her back. He hated her.

"You're my soulmate, and you could never want me. You have Chaol waiting for you, and I am nothing but Maeve's lackey. I could never be with you, even if you did love me back."

Wait, what?

"Y-you love me?" Aelin manages to ask, her throat closing up, her thoughts completely garbled with this new information.

"Of course I do! How could I not? You're my soulmate. I- I don't know how, or why, but you're my soulmate, Aelin. Every night I dreamt about waking up in a bed full of blood and then turning to see the mangled corpse of a teenage boy, before being whipped to an inch of my life. I didn't realize it until I saw your scars, but you're my soulmate, and I know it might be hard to hear but-"

Aelin cut Rowan's rambling off. "Rowan, I know. I've known for weeks. Ever since you told me about Lyria, I realized the dead pregnant body I dreamt about every night was her."

He looked at her with wide eyes. "Y-you've known for weeks? Why didn't you tell me?"

Aelin shielded her face, ashamed. "I- I thought you might hate me."

"Hate you?!?!" Rowan exclaimed, so shocked by the mere idea.

"I'm not Lyria," Aelin started to explain, but Rowan cut her off before she could continue, his face full of understanding.

"No, you're not Lyria. You're Aelin, perfect in your own way. You're Aelin, my soulmate."

Tears filled Aelin's eyes. "I- I know we both have a lot of baggage but we can work through it together. I don't know about you, but my dreams stopped a-and I love you and I'm willing to try to make this work and-"

Rowan shoved the tray off her lap and pressed his lips to hers before she could continue her rambling. She kissed him back fervently, wrapping her arms around his neck, moving as close to him as possible, never wanting to let him go. They fit together perfectly.

Rowan pulled back just enough to murmur into her ear, "To whatever end, Fireheart."

"To whatever end," Aelin agreed, surging back into the arms of her soulmate.

And at that moment, they were in blissful harmony, finally with the one they loved. They had a lot of work ahead of them, but now they had each other to go through it with them.


End file.
